


The Wooster Charms

by LadyKeane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Happy Ending, Lots of Food, M/M, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, UST for days, but the transphobic rotter gets his just desserts, harry potter says trans rights, illogical quidditch, who let Bertie become a professor??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKeane/pseuds/LadyKeane
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr: a Hogwarts AU of the Jeeves & Wooster crew. Newly minted Charms teacher Professor Wooster thought he was already in over his head, having to wrangle the Gryffindor kids and teach NEWT-level magic to the seventh years. But even worse, he must keep it together in front of his brilliant and imposing former Potions master: Professor Jeeves.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Original Male Character(s), Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried my best to keep (appropriately-framed) transphobia to the basic minimum for narrative conflict. At the very least, there's plenty of fluff and Woosterian goofiness to help cushion it a bit.

My Aunt Dahlia once said to me: 'Bertie, young grindylow, if you want to keep your aplomb in this world, you must never meet your idols.'

I'm not sure if she was so audacious as to actually say the word 'aplomb' out loud, but it was something to that effect, at least. I believe this was in relation to the time when, as a young witch, she met Celestina Warbeck with the hopes of nabbing an autograph. As is so often the way, the songstress behind such hits as 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' and ' _Accio_ Christmas' turned out to be a diva in every sense of the word, rudely and roughly rejecting said request. (I mean, even if my auntie _had_ illegally apparated into Celestina's private backstage dressing room, she could have at least appreciated the nerve and skill the lass had shown in doing so.)

But, you know, I'm not even sure if 'idol' is the terminology I want. It's hard to describe the effect Professor Jeeves has had on me. I remember the first time I encountered him, as an 'ickle firstie', still tripping over robes that were too big for me and gawping at the ceiling of the Great Hall. He was Head Boy, notorious for being the cleverest student to walk the Hogwarts halls since the likes of Hermione Granger. We never traded words that year, but I do recall how his large, dark-haired head stuck out from the back of his hat.

When the time came to sit my OWLs, it was he who replaced the outgoing Potions master, Professor Slughorn. While the old egg had to be several centuries old by this point, I was most saddened to see him go: despite my complete lack of aptitude in his classes, he had gleefully 'collected' me for the sake of my lineage, and the ice-cream sundaes and crystallised pineapple on offer at his little parties were always a highlight of the school term.

I remember Professor Jeeves' calm, precise manner in class, akin to a healing zephyr. Even if I absorbed none of the lesson itself, the sound of his rich, gentle bass voice was most pleasing. I also enjoyed watching his large dextrous hands plucking perfect measurements of various herbs and liquids and whatsits, crafting small miracles in the cauldron at the front of the classroom. It was a singular kind of magic that transfixed me, more than any fancy wandwork. He once nominated me as the guinea pig for a restorative elixir that he had demonstrated brewing: that morning, during an unfortunate Quidditch session, I had taken a rogue bludger to the noggin. The moment I downed the gleaming liquid, my head stopped pounding, my energy sprung back, and I'm pretty sure some of the spots cleared from my face.  
  
And when I accidentally dropped the grey sludge that was my paltry attempt at this elixir all over Professor Jeeves' robes, he simply raised his eyebrow at me by an eighth of an inch, whisked his wand with a softly uttered _'Scourgify,'_ and dismissed me from his sight.  
The 'T' grade I got for my Potions exam at the end of the year was a surprise to no-one. As much as I admired the fellow, I was quite relieved that I would be unable to study Potions in sixth year.

That being said, this Wooster can _Wingardium_ a good _Leviosa_ with the best of them. Aunt Dahlia was over the moon about my 'O' grade in Charms, and the 'E' grade in my Defense Against the Dark Arts was cause enough for her to slug me in the arm with glee. While I'm not the best at duelling, I was able to produce a full Patronus at a young age without too much trouble. It did come as a bit of a pleasant shock to discover that it took the form of a sleek, powerful panther. I had been expecting some sort of sad, stumpy rodent.  
Aunt Agatha, on the other hand, reacted to my grades with the same screed she always did: that a Wooster in Hufflepuff was a blight on the family legacy. Well, I mean to say. At least _my_ Patronus isn't a paralysis tick. I actually think the old harpy is a bit jealous.

***

Anyway, all this to say that my new position as the Charms teacher at Hogwarts was intimidating, to say the least. You will probably be wondering: 'Wooster, how in the name of Merlin's beard did a nincompoop like you win such an exalted position?' Well, I admit my public speaking skills err towards the rambly, but to be honest, I believe Professor McGonagall was getting a tad desperate to find someone. Though Hogwarts professors are respected by the magical community, it is not exactly a cushy position. The outgoing teacher who had taken over from Professor Flitwick had quit within a year. She'd announced that she needed some 'rest time', which I found out meant a long stay in St. Mungo's hospital. McGonagall had apparently begged a long list of venerable witches and wizards to fill in. In response, the poor headmistress received a succession of howlers with variations of 'over my dead body' as the feedback.

One evening, I was trotted out to the Leaky Cauldron by my old chums, Gussie Fink-Nottle and Honoria Glossop. During our stripling years, Honoria had been a beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team alongside my cousin Angela, and was now the Quidditch coach and flying teacher at the school. Gussie had kept to himself a lot, tending to his pet newts in one of the danker corners of the Hufflepuff common room. Even so, we seemed to share every single one of our classes - he even matched my 'T' grade in the Potions OWL exam (during the exam itself, the poor blighter had fainted - the eye of newt contingent of the assigned potion proved too much for his constitution.) His skills are now much better utilised in his teaching Care of Magical Creatures. (Though how a little poop like Gussie is able to handle hippogriffs and blast-ended skrewts, I'll never know.)  
  
'Bertie,' Gussie began, hands wrapped around his glass of pumpkin juice, 'you're quite a one for charms, right?'  
'Oh, rather. You recall how the lads always counted on my _Alohomora_ and _Silencio_ to sneak leftover pudding from the kitchens without getting caught, right?'  
'No, not really.'  
'Ah, yes. I think I had to use _Obliviate_ on you once, when you threatened to dob Bingo Little and I in to Professor Sprout.'  
'You what, Wooster?'  
'What Gussie means is,' Honoria cut in, her voice threatening to curdle my pint of butterbeer, 'you have a way with the wand. It's a talent that really should be put to good use, Bertie.'  
'I think I put it to excellent use. Remember those dress robes I wore to the SPEW benefit last Summer? The debate still rages over whether they were pink or blue - that was a charm of my own devising!'  
'Yes, very nice. But what of your community, Bertie? You must contribute to the betterment of magical folk.'  
'I say, Honoria, this conversation is taking a rather auntly turn which I don't much care for.'

She slammed back the last of her firewhisky, and I flinched as she cast her shot glass back down on the table. 'Look. McGonagall's trying to fill the Charms position, and she's desperate. She even tried to convince Nearly Headless Nick to fill in.'  
'Golly. How did Nick take that?'  
'He finally ripped his head all the way off, and threw it at her.'  
'Dashed unpleasant.'  
'You're no Albus Dumbledore, but she's asked me to recruit you. You in?'  
'You mean wrangling a castle full of rambunctious teenagers, and having to work with old teachers who have been known to "tsk" at me with intent? I think not.'  
'If you agree, your Aunt Agatha promised to put her crusade to wed you to some pure-blood witch on indefinite hiatus.'  
'Jolly good. Send an owl to McGonagall, I'm taking the next train up!'

***

I will never get over the fact that one stern look from Professor Minvera McGonagall can render a class full of rabid adolescents into mute little prey animals. It's even more impressive than her whole Animagus wheeze.

'People,' she addressed the gang of seventh years, 'we have a new Charms teacher today, taking over from Professor Murphy, who is on medically mandated indefinite leave. I would like you all to join me in giving a warm Hogwarts welcome to Wooster - I mean, _Professor_ Wooster!'  
(Old habits die hard - McGonagall had oft uttered my name as an exasperated grumble. I had seen the inside of the headmistress' office more than either of us would have liked, for a colourful series of punishments and reprimands.)

'What ho, Charms students all. Terribly honoured to be invited to teach here at the old Hoggy Warty, and all that. Professor McGonagall tells me you lot are preparing for your NEWT exams? Well, well, well. You know, it doesn't seem so long ago that I was doing the exact same. In fact, you - yes, the lad sitting up the back right corner - if you look under your desk, you may even find the wad of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum that I left-'  
'I shall leave you to teach the Charms syllabus, shall I Wooster? Good luck,' McGonagall not-so-subtly pointed to the heavy textbook sitting up on the teacher's desk, before striding out.

'Ah. Yes. Now, then, where was I... oh yes, Drooble's gum. Hot tip: don't buy it from Honeyduke's, the price is so dreadfully marked-up. I'll have you know that The Three Broomsticks sells it for-'  
'Excuse me, Professor,' a bushy-haired girl in the front row shot her hand up. 'Aren't we supposed to be learning about wandless charm-casting?'  
'Oh! Right you are, Miss...?'  
'Rose Granger-Weasley.'  
I nodded. 'Miss Rose Granger-Weasley.'

I grabbed lamely at the textbook on the desk, trying to ignore Rose Granger-Weasley's sharp glare. I began reading.  
'Ah... The method for wandless magic is to use the caster's own body as the spell's conduit. This is advanced magic which requires a great deal of energy and focus, but in turn can magnify the power of the spell...'  
A dark-haired boy up the back called: 'Sir, we've done the introduction already! We were up to wandless summoning charms.'  
'Right ho.' I pored through the pages, trying to find the respective chapter. The collective groan that went up could have killed a sickly houseplant.

'Um... oh, what fun! This chapter here has a quiz! Quills out, we'll devote this lesson to answering these fascinating questions on memory charms. I hope you all _remember_ as much as possible about this topic, eh?' No-one joined in with my laughter.  
As the young shavers all fumbled for their parchment and quills, I noticed Rose Granger-Weasley huff in a manner that would have made Aunt Agatha proud. No doubt she'd be telling her mother about this.

***

After this somewhat tense session, I had my first double class with the wee first years. They proved decidedly unruly, until I got the brilliant idea to grab their attention by casting my colour-changing robes charm. They may not have learned much, but we had a jolly old time, as I splashed rainbows of iridescent colour across their dull black uniforms.

After a few more long awkward hours of muddling through lessons, I was finally free. The first day had not been too big a disaster, I thought. One of the third years may have accidentally poked a classmate in the eye with his wand during a lesson on chilling charms. And my robes got a tad singed when demonstrating the were-flame charm to fifth year Slytherins. But these were minor setbacks - at least nothing had blown up.

I was about to beat a hasty escape to the sunny castle grounds, when I remembered the seventh years' quiz answers, still sitting in a messy pile on my desk. Our next lesson was the very next day - I would need to mark their parchments _tout suite._ Well, no point in missing out on the good weather. I bundled the papers in my arms, with the intent of marking them out on the soft grass.  
As soon as I oiled my way into the corridor, I bumped into a tall, darkish, respectful sort of Johnnie. Both the papers and my already bruised ego went tumbling to the floor.  
  
'Oh, Professor Jeeves! Dreadfully sorry! I was just parching these marks outside and, ah... that is to say...'  
'Not at all, Wooster. Allow me to assist you. _Accio_ parchments-'  
' _Accio_ Jeeves! I mean, parchments! I mean...'  
I ended up on the floor again, and the venerable Potions master somehow ended up in my lap.  
'I think I might just pick these up by hand.'  
'I think that very wise, Wooster.'

To his credit, the good man assisted me in this tedium.  
'I believe you are the new Charms teacher?'  
'Yes, if you can believe it. I was all they could get, the last resort, if you will.'  
'On the contrary, I can readily believe it. During your studies here, your execution of charms was consistently outstanding, and you have an easy and tolerant manner. I believe you have the potential to become an excellent professor, and an asset to this school.'  
'Oh... gosh. Thank you, I do hope so! And... you too. You're an excellent professor too, I mean. At this school.'

His eyebrow did the raise-an-eighth-of-an-inch thingummy, and I scarpered with my reclaimed parchments, my face burning like I'd consumed fifty pepper imps at once.

***

Finally, I reached the sloping lawns by the lake, revelling in the fresh air and absence of expectant stares. However, here I came upon a faculty member who I was actually pleased to see again.  
'What ho, Professor Longbottom, how's tricks, then?'  
His round face lit up. 'Hello Bertie. You know you can call me "Neville" now.'  
'Right you are, Neville.'  
I plopped myself down beside him, careful not to let my pile of parchments roll down to the shoreline.  
'Gussie told me you took up the Charms post. How are you finding it?'  
'Ah... honestly, quite overwhelming. I spent most of today just trying to get the students to listen. And when they did, it was hard to know where to begin with instruction. I singed my robes, too!'  
He nodded thoughtfully. 'I remember my first day teaching Herbology. One of my fourth years was almost strangled when he taunted my devil's snare, and a smug little first year corrected my pronunciation of "alihotsy tree". I also dropped a tray of shrivelfig saplings in front of my OWL students.'  
Klutz to klutz, I offered a sympathetic simper.  
'But you'll get the hang of it,' he insisted. 'Teaching here is the best way to toughen up. In a few months, nothing will faze you.'  
'I hope so. At the moment I feel ready to die of embarassment.'  
'I was going to mention, your face does look awfully red.'  
I bit my lip, trying not to think of Professor Jeeves. 'Um, that was the packet of pepper imps I just ate.'

I was keen to change the subject. 'Oh, by the way, I saw your Hamish recently, at the Leaky Cauldron. He's done wonders with the place! The standard of the pumpkin pasties and treacle tart has really taken an upswing.'  
A dreamy smile oozed onto Neville's face. 'He's always been an amazing cook. He got our daughters to enjoy sprouts! They were even willing to eat bowtruckle broccoli, when he sauted it in-'  
'Longbottom!'

Neville must have leapt about half a mile into the air. I turned to see a wizard of a truly formidable size and shape, who could have been passed off as Professor Hagrid's scowling evil twin. My stomach dropped to my feet, as I saw him hold aloft one of the first year's multicoloured robes.  
'Do you know anything about this atrocity?'  
Neville helplessly shook his head.  
'My afternoon class with the first years was sabotaged by this charm! The brats were all overstimulated by their gaudy new robes, and refused to listen! They've all got detention now, helping Filch to clean the lavatories. I'm going to track down the reprobate who did this!' He turned his massive, shaggy-haired onion to stare me down. 'What about you, pipsqueak?'  
'Ah... no...?'  
'Who are you anyway?'  
'P-Professor Wooster. It's my first day.'  
He snorted, and I was put in mind of a distempered erumpent. 'McGonagall's letting anyone teach, these days. Tell me you're a pure-blood, at least?'  
I tried not to show how taken aback I was by this intolerant remark. 'Uh, yes.'  
'Hang on... Wooster? The new Charms teacher, yes?' I got a plume of firewhisky-soaked breath in the face. 'Just WHERE could the firsties have picked up such a troublesome charm, if not from YOU!? I'm going to-'

'Professor Galbraith?' Came the sound of a smooth bass voice.  
The beast known as Galbraith whipped around, his scowl deepening. 'What do you want, Half-blood?'  
Nary a nerve twitched on Jeeves' noble map. 'I came to tell you that I saw two seventh year boys running away from your office. A rather obscene word has been scrawled upon your door. I'm afraid I was unable to undo this jinx.'  
'POTTER AND MALFOY!' He roared. 'Where are they!?'  
'I'm afraid I could not say, Professor.'  
'Useless Half-blood,' he gave Jeeves a shove in the chest, and turned to stalk off on his hunt for the boys. Before he could leave, Neville shakily spoke up.

'Professor Galbraith?'  
'What!?'  
'I-I don't think you should address Professor Jeeves like that. He's the head of Ravenclaw House and deserves your respect.'  
Galbraith suddenly grabbed my chum by the collar.  
'As if I'd listen to a pervert like you. Go and cry to your deformed bearded lady of a wife.'

My sudden impulse to hex this rotter was tempered by the very real fact that he could probably split me into several pieces without breaking a sweat. We watched him stomp away, the air of disgust thicker than cold porridge.  
'That's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,' Neville said. 'An Ex-Auror. He got thrown out of the Ministry for using the Cruciatus Curse on his suspects.'  
'And naturally, he's suited to teaching children?' I exclaimed.  
'The Charms position wasn't the only role McGonagall was desperate to fill.'

We all got our breath back, and Jeeves turned to me.  
'Wooster, Professor McGonagall has requested that you remove the colour-changing charm from the first years' robes. While she appreciated your efforts to engage them with the syllabus, she insisted that the standards of the Hogwarts uniform must be maintained. I would be happy to assist you with this after dinner, if you wish.'  
'Right ho, Professor Jeeves!'

***

Even after several meals, I still wasn't used to sitting at the head table. It's awfully elevated and exposed, and impels one to mind their table manners. But us professors have an example to set, I suppose, and I nibbled at my toothsome roast daintily.  
At least it was a comfort to be among friends. I filled Gussie in on the harrowing events of the day, capping it off with the Galbraith confrontation.  
Gussie shuddered. 'I'd face a thousand Roderick Spodes again, before having to deal with Galbraith. The man's a monster, and he really has it in for Professor Jeeves.'  
'Oh, for the love of Baba Yaga. The blighter must be jealous, am I right?'  
  
'Well,' Gussie lowered his voice here, 'it has a lot to do with Professor Jeeves' consultation on the Transitional Polyjuice Potion, given to transgender witches and wizards. Minister Granger sought his expertise on its development and administration at St Mungo's, just before the new laws were passed. Galbraith is the worst sort of bigot. Despite reprimands from McGonagall, he's repeatedly misgendered poor Neville's husband.'  
I grimaced over my potatoes. 'Yes, I got a prime example of his nastiness today. He's the sort of fellow I'd love to see on the receiving end of a venomous tantacula.'  
'Tell me about it.'

The conversation brightened from here, as Gussie regaled me about the new breeding pair of salamanders he'd acquired from Rolf Scamander.

Later that evening, the robes of many colours were _Levisoa_ _ed_ down the corridors of the school. As we passed the entrance to Gryffindor tower, the Fat Lady looked mildly horrified.  
'I have been advised that one of the upper classrooms will be free for use tonight,' Jeeves told me. 'Hopefully the task will not take long, with the two of us-'  
  
The moment he opened the door to said classroom, his brow raised an entire half-inch. We were assaulted by the sight of two randy students, mauling each other like excited manticores. I recognised the dark haired boy from my seventh year class, currently with his tongue halfway down the gob of a gangly blond lad.

Jeeves patiently waited for the lovebirds to collect themselves. 'Good evening Potter, Malfoy.'  
'Um.' Said Potter.  
'Shouldn't the two of you be back in the Slytherin common room, perhaps working on your _Felix Felicis_ assignment?'  
'Ah.'  
'Professor McGonagall needn't hear of this, provided that you return straight away.'  
'Nice one, sir,' said the Malfoy. 'By the way, thanks for covering for us with Galbraith.'  
He recieved a blank stare in return. 'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. Now, I expect that assignment complete and on my desk by Thursday morning.'  
'Mm,' supplied Potter.

'You covered for them?' I asked, once the pair had scampered off.  
'I may have conveniently removed the hex the boys put on Galbraith's door, just before he attempted to demonstrate their guilt to Professor McGonagall.'  
'Nice one, Jeeves! I mean, uhm...'  
I was happily surprised when I saw the corner of his shapely mouth quirk upwards, in the Jeevesian version of a whatsit-eating grin.

We fell to arranging the robes, and began removing my charms from them, one by one. I noticed Jeeves squinting a bit every time he had to clap eyes on the shimmery bright colours.  
'Anything the matter?'  
'I am not terribly fond of vivid hues. I much prefer apparel in more conservative colours. Black, grey, and navy blue are more pleasing to my eyes.'  
'Golly, remind me never to expose you to _my_ wardrobe. I've sets of robes in Hufflepuff yellow, peacock blue, and even purple paisley.'  
Jeeves looked a bit sick.

'Uhm... so Gussie told me that Minister Granger sought your advice on the Transitional Polyjuice Potion. That must have been quite a challenge.'  
'Indeed. The difficulty lay not in rendering the potion permanent, but brewing it in a manner that allowed the subject's true form to emerge, rather than mimicking the form of another. It took years of collaboration with the best potioneers to get the formula right.'  
'Well, bully to you. You've contributed to the betterment of magical folk on a level that I could only dream of.'  
'I would not say that, Wooster. We all have the capacity to do good in the world.'  
'I suppose so... but if you ask my Aunt Agatha, it's a small miracle that I can do so much as tie my bootlaces unaided.'

'Would that be Mrs Agatha Gregson of the Witches' Temperance Society?'  
'That's the old bat-bogey,' I confirmed.  
'She was one of the primary opponents of our research. She made many a failed attempt to roadblock our progress, both at the hospital and at the Ministry. Thankfully, Minister Granger's strength of character was more than enough to contend with her.'  
'Brava, Minister Granger!'  
'I would not trust Mrs Gregson's judgement - and I hope you do not, either.'  
'Not if I can help it. Dash it, this spot of pearlescent pink won't shift.'

Jeeves stood close - close enough for me to get a whiff of his spicy cologne - and extended his long, sturdy wand over my shoulder. He waved it gracefully before my eyes.  
'Here, Wooster, you need to conjure a stronger focal point upon which to exude the cleansing spell. _Scourgify!'_ His bass rumbled its way through my nervous system, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. The pearlescent pink melted away.  
'Um.' I said.

***


	2. Chapter 2

The first Quidditch match of the season rolled around. On a bright and crisp Sunday, Gussie and I wrangled a horde of black-and-yellow clad youngsters out to the stadium. The familiar aroma of turf, old wood, and rancid sweat suddenly conjured up many embarrassing schoolboy memories.

This match was Hufflepuff v Slytherin, so our charges were particularly zesty. Despite our penchant for teamwork, us 'Puffs are not particularly known for winning the Quidditch Cup. But a brand new season of the game brought renewed hope - especially given the zippy little Seeker that we now boasted, one Ms Marigold Longbottom-Abbott, eldest daughter of Neville and Hamish.  
She clutched at her Nimbus, as her papa corralled her gently towards the locker rooms.  
'What if I get hit by a bludger? What if I drop the Snitch?'  
Neville smiled down at her wanly. 'You'll do fine.' It didn't suprise me that athletic hustle-talk was not his forte.

Gussie and I found our seats among the badger banners and saffron signage, and Gussie's eyes lit up at the enormous sack of caramel popcorn that I produced. While it was to share between the two of us, I made sure to cast a charm that would deter any would-be moochers with a few spectral smacks to the hand.  
The kids roared away when the two teams marched onto the pitch. Honoria threw out the inaugural Quaffle, and the chasers and beaters zipped off, to the sounds of cheers and taunts from all sides.

While I am no athlete, I'm rather adept at Quidditch when it comes to the spectator side of things. It is a rookie mistake to throw all of one's attention into the back-and-forth drama of the Quaffle. You'd be surprised to learn how many games are decisively won by the capturing of the Snitch - a much higher precentage than most fellows assume. Hence, this Wooster always keeps one baby-blue trained on the wee Seekers, circling the periphery of the pitch. Nine times out of ten, if one of them speeds up suddenly, you can be sure of a perfectly teeth-gnashing spectacle of drama and Seeker-on-Seeker skirmishing, even resulting in a staggering end to the game. Gets the blood pumping every time, I tell you. Especially if one has Galleons riding on the outcome.

The game unfolded much as expected: the Slytherin Beaters laying into the poor Hufflepuff Chasers without mercy. Just as well our Keeper was such an agile thing - every Slytherin attempt at a goal was parried, and the score remained a solid 0 - 0 for the better part of an hour.  
  
And then, up around the tip of the turrets of the Gryffindor stand, a sudden burst of speed from young Ms Longbottom-Abbott grabbed my focus. Had she spotted the Snitch, or had she just seen a hopelessly lost gilded Billywig? (Given that Billywigs are native to Australia, it was unlikely.)

Her determined swoop over the stadium, not to mention the rival Slytherin Seeker zooming up to join her, confirmed it. The glint of the Snitch now caught the notice of the crowd as it ducked and weaved away from its pursuers. I grabbed Gussie's shoulder as the two Seekers barrelled around each other, arms outstreched, straining to grab the shiny little bugger out of the air.  
With a deft sweep upwards, the Slytherin Seeker anticipated the Snitch's downward trajectory, and as his gangly mitt clasped about it, the Slytherin stand went positively feral with cheers. All around me, I could feel the Hufflepuff _esprit_ droop like an underwatered Mandrake. Yet another defeat, yet another year without the Quidditch Cup. 

But as the requisite bedlam ensued in the stands, I noticed something a tad off: Marigold Longbottom-Abbott remained high up in the air, as her teammates drearily sank down towards the pitch. Not hovering, but frozen. Nary a yellow ribbon in her hair was ruffling in the breeze - her eyes, however, were alive with terror. Something afoul was afoot.  
Speaking of feet, a heavy tread on the wooden stands came from behind me. I turned to behold two figures:

1) the despicable fig. of Professor Galbraith, eyes fixed maliciously on little Marigold, raising his gnarled wand in her direction;  
2) the stealthy fig. of Professor Jeeves sneaking up behind the brute, his wand also drawn, presumably scheming to ambush him with some sort of elegant Jeevesian hex.

Without thinking, I lobbed my charmed bag of caramel popcorn at Galbraith. As it beaned his loathsome mug, a series of aerial hands popped into existence. They smacked his wand from his grasp, then proceeded to smack him to the ground. Alongside the pleasing slaps of aerial-hand-on-flesh, I heard the snapping of a wooden floorboard, and the squelch of discarded snack foods, which I hoped were several weeks old.

Jeeves wasted no time in freeing the frightened girl from the Curse. He then cast a Body-Bind hex on Galbraith. 'Wait here, Wooster,' he said, 'I shall fetch Professor McGonagall.'  
As I guarded the fiend, I watched Marigold shakily descend to the soft grass below, and run to the arms of her distraught father.

***

'I couldn't move, Professor,' insisted Marigold, 'my entire body and even my broom were suddenly frozen in mid-air!'  
McGonagall turned her attention to Jeeves. 'And you are confident that it was Galbraith who cast this curse?'  
'He had his wand and his gaze trained right upon Ms Longbottom-Abbott, Professor. If you perform _Priori Incantatem_ upon his wand, you will find indisputable proof.'

'Lies!' thundered Galbraith. 'You know that this half-blood has it in for me, right, McGonagall? Ever since I spoke up against those unnatural poisons he concocted with his mates at St Mungo's?'  
'They're not unnatural,' Marigold piped up, 'they've helped a lot of witches and wizards to become their true selves!'  
'Oh really?' Galbraith leaned his snarling gob right into Marigold's breathing space. 'If I had my way, you and your disgusting family would be-'  
  
'ENOUGH!' roared McGonagall. 'Even if there was a shred of doubt in my mind that you were the one to _assault a thirteen year old girl_ , your frequent bullying of both the students and several valued members of faculty is simply beyond the pale. Galbraith, I expect you to pack your things and take the closest floo out of here, tonight!'

Galbraith could do nothing but snort. 'So be it, _Professor_.' An errant piece of caramel popcorn flew out of his nostril, and he hoofed off.

After a long withering exhale, McGonagall suddenly noticed my presence. 'Wooster? What in Merlin's beard are _you_ doing here?'  
'Professor Wooster was the one who rescued Ms Longbottom-Abbott,' Jeeves chimed in. 'Through the use of a rather inventive self-devised charm, he intervened and subdued Galbraith before he could fire off a second Curse at his intended victim.'  
'Oh. Well, good show then. I suppose it's nice to know that your charmwork can do more than just deface the Hogwarts school uniform.'  
'It certainly can, Professor.' Jeeves sneaked a quarter-smile at me, and I came over all giddy.  
We were then sent on our way, and Marigold and I were both given a chocolate frog for our troubles.  
  
I savoured my closeness to Jeeves as we ambled down the hall, away from the headmistress' office. It was the first time I'd ever walked away from the place without bearing some vile punishment.  
'Golly,' I said to my chum. 'How do you suppose they'll teach D.A.D.A. classes, now?'  
'While the headmistress seeks a replacement, it is likely she will ask several existing teachers to fill in.'  
'Sounds sensible. I'm not bad at the old Patronus charm - I wonder if McGonagall will recruit me?'  
'I doubt it, Wooster.'  
'Ah.' I nodded sadly. While I was normally used to the slighting of my limited intelligence, I admit this time it hurt a little.  
'Only due to the newness of your position, you understand - it is unlikely she will wish to burden you with further duties while you are still settling in.'  
I was soothed by this remark.

We reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Jeeves turned to me. 'This evening, I am needed at a dinner meeting of St. Mungo's potioneers in London. However, I wonder if you would care to join me afterwards, for a drink at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade? I shall be back by nine o'clock.'  
I prayed that my face didn't look as pepper imp-ish as it felt.  
'Oh... rather! That is to say, I'll be there with bells on! Well, not literal bells, you understand, I know your taste in fashion does not run toward the jaunty so maybe just a subdued power blue set of robes would-'  
'Marvellous,' he announced, 'until then, Bertram.'

Without warning, the blighter gently took my hand, and placed a warm, fleeting kiss upon it.  
I mean, _really._ Handsome wizards should come with a legible warning label if they are in the habit of kissing a chap's hand willy-nilly. Perhaps we could somehow charm them to display the hazards above their head or something: 'CAUTION: This dashing rogue will compliment you in a deep silky voice and kiss your hand without giving notice. Will give you the effect of being under a potent yet strangely pleasant Babbling curse.'

As he shimmered off, the Fat Lady gave a cheeky wolf whistle.

***

I had a light supper of three loin chops, mashed potatoes, and only two helpings of treacle tart - I knew my tummy would be especially frothy that night, so better not to weigh it down. Straight afterwards, I rushed off to wash my map and coiff my curls. By the time I had ankled down to Hogsmeade, it was only quarter to nine. I nabbed a cozy corner table at the Three Broomsticks and nursed a nervous butterbeer.

I tried to rehearse various topics of small talk in my head: 'The Ministry really ought to enact laws against bigoted teachers', 'The first years are really coming along in their studies', 'My that's a big fireplace, isn't it', but they all petered out feebly at the thought of Jeeves' dark, gleaming eyes, and the warm memory of his lips upon my hand. I still found myself disbelieving that such an enchanter could be so interested in a scatterbrained flitterby such as this Wooster. 

One butterbeer became two - it was now nine-fifteen. Perhaps his meeting had run late.  
Soon it was nine-thirty. So the meeting ran very late?  
Nine forty-five - three butterbeers - floor.  
'Off with you, Wooster. You're setting a poor example for the seventh years!' Madam Rosmerta scolded me as she hauled me to the door.

I stumbled along in the dark in a generally Hogwarts-ward direction, mired in the grim knowledge that I had been Stood Up. Perhaps the cad had come to his senses, after all. It's not as if we were evenly matched in the brains department. One would not expect a sphinx to hook up with a flobberworm, after all.  
I traipsed on, hating myself and hating Jeeves even more, and tripped upon a twisting tree root.  
As I came to, I looked about to find myself somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.

I made an attempt to shake off my tipsiness, and discern the lights of the castle through the trees. What I discerned instead chilled me to the marrow: the sound of a man crying out in agony. Without thinking, I rushed towards the horrid sound, anxious that a fellow nocturnal souse might have been hurt.  
Amidst a grove of cypress trees, I found Jeeves, hunched over, shaking with sobs. In his arms he clutched my own limp, lifeless corpse.

I wasn't so drunk as to not question this: after patting at my own definitely alive and animate body, I called out to the man. His head snapped up at the sound of my voice, and bizarrely, so did the form of my 'dead' doppleganger.  
It suddenly changed shape, becoming the fearsome frame of my Aunt Agatha. She leapt out of Jeeves' arms and began stalking towards me.  
'Bertie, you worthless reprobate! I have just affianced you to Lady Lucrezia Lestrange, and you are to be wed on the morrow!'  
  
It took me a few heart-stopping moments to realise that the bloody thing was a Boggart.  
I managed to pull out my wand. _'Riddikulus!'  
_ It was then mercifully reduced to the form of a foul-tempered shrew, who promptly scuttled up and began gnawing on the toe of my boot. Jeeves had the good sense to cast a banishing charm upon the damned thing, and it shrewishly scurried off into the undergrowth.

'Are you alright?' He asked.  
'Fine... what the deuce was a Boggart doing drifting around so close to the school?'  
'Tonight, there has been word of a security breach at the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Apparently, several dangerous specimens were found missing from their research centre near Loch Affric. Naturally, I feared that the beasts may endanger...'  
Here he paused, and I could see his pupils constrict. He then pounced upon the Wooster corpus and shouted _'ARANIA EXUMAI!'_

From under the mantle of Jeeves' long black cloak, I spied several husky acromantulas stomping towards us, on scores of gangling, hairy legs. Screwing my courage to the whatsit, I stuck my wand out from under Jeeves' cloak and repeated the incantation. With a few good shots, we managed to frighten the creatures away.  
'Maybe those chaps were just the spiders from the colony here in the forest,' I suggested. 'Maybe the whole wheeze about escaped monsters is-'  
'-Absolutely correct,' came a voice to churn the stomach.

Slinking out from behind a dead tree came Galbraith, bearing an ugly grin that suggested he was in premiere form. 'Good luck trying to hunt down the predators I've unleashed. It'd be awful if they got onto the castle grounds and preyed on any students,' he taunted.  
'You're mad, Galbraith!'  
He shrugged at this with an unnerving sort of _sang-froid._ 'A lesson needs to be learned here by the upstarts and perverts trying to warp nature. Let nature warp _them,_ I say!'  
He apparated off, just as a giant Chimaera pounced out of the shadows. 

As my heart hammered against the walls of my larynx, I was quickly hit with a brilliant-or-stupid idea. _'Avis!'  
_ Flapping, tweeting little songbirds shot forth from my wand, and the ire of the giant lion-goat-dragon beastie was diffused within a moment. It collapsed to its side, batting at the birds playfully with its hooves. As we both legged it away from the scene, I swear I even heard the great shaggy lump purring.

'We must inform the Ministry of this,' Jeeves panted, 'They will have the means to contain the-'  
A Dementor swooped down from above, coming within mere inches of the dear man's face. No hesitation was needed on this Wooster's part. I willed up a memory of all the old beans, eggs and crumpets in Hufflepuff (in particular, an afternoon during fourth year when we brought a haul from Zonko's Joke Shop back to the school, and induced all kinds of mayhem with extendable ears, fake moustache lotion, etc.)  
 _'Expecto Patronum!'_

My trusty Patronus, the sleek panther, leapt into action, dispelling the Dementor from its quarry. A second Dementor swooped in, and was just as quickly scared off. Jeeves went still, watching the spectacle with an unprecedented awe.  
'Get back to the school,' I told him, 'I can handle this.'  
Jeeves looked a little reluctant at this, but took off, as my panther swiped at the terrified Dementors with its large paw.

At my disposal, I had a springy (yet clumsy) pair of legs, a beefy Patronus, and a mad unrelenting optimism. Hopefully I would be able to buy enough time for McGonagall to enact the full force of her wrath on the menagerie I was facing down.  
The Boggart, Chimarea, and Acromantulas were still at large somewhere, so I thought it best to try and keep tabs.

I stumbled along the forest floor, skirting the edge of the trees. My objective was to keep the beasts away from the school grounds, and the innocents therein. Game face on: it was _preux chevalier_ time. I prayed that I, and my oak-and-unicorn-hair-ten-inches-quite-whippy, were up to it.

The Chimaera turned out to be surprisingly easy to handle. It was still toying with the little birds I'd conjured, perfectly content to just loll about on the forest floor. I risked throwing it a spare loin chop that I'd kept wrapped up from dinner (in case I got peckish, of course). After chomping contentedly away on the thing, it approached me for a friendly headbutt. Well, I _have_ always been a cat person.

Just as I had gotten in a good nuzzle, I noticed a great bonny Acromantula stampedeing towards the castle, as if it were late for class. Girding my whatsits, I followed it.  
As expected I was quite unable to keep up with all eight of its spindly pins. Expelling spiders was one thing, but how in the hell was I to re-direct one? Without any other option, I grabbed an obliging rock and chucked it at the blighter's head.  
'Oi! I hollered breathlessly. 'You there!'

I now had the rather novel problem of a vengeful Acromantula to deal with. It turned about, and bore down upon me with every expected ounce of spidery big-fanged fury. But in spite of my shaken nerves and churning gut, another truly providential brainwave came to me:  
 _'Serpensortia!'_

It was a minor miracle that I could pull off this snake-summoning spell at all: I'd attempted it in vain during my Transfiguration OWLS, and the pointed, disapproving glare of McGonagall was at least as scary as my arachind foe.  
All the same, a hefty python bloomed from my wand and hissed loudly, curling about upon the earth. While no Basilisk, it proved enough of a threat to send the Acromantula scarpering off with its spinneret between its many legs, back to the den from whence it came.  
'WOOSTER!'

I was to know not a single moment's respite. The eardrum-shattering boom of Roderick Spode resounded throughout the forest, and I looked about for the source of the frightful sound.  
A massive shadow swooped down from one of the tree branches. There the great hominid stood, with the veins on his thick forehead and even thicker neck pulsing violently.  
'I'M GOING TO RIP OFF ALL OF YOUR LIMBS AND USE YOUR HEAD AS A QUAFFLE!'  
 _'R-riddikulus?'_  
'GAAAAH!'

He gave chase, and I made more pathetically-aimed attempts at the defence charm as I dashed through the undergrowth. The Boggart-Spode knew no lethargy. I'm sure the tang of my cold sweat was a hearty enticement.  
 _'Riddikulus!'_  
'I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE AND USE YOUR HIDE TO MAKE A SET OF DRESS ROBES!'  
 _'Riddikulus...'  
_ 'I'LL SUCK THE MARROW FROM YOUR BONES AND SEND THE REMAINS TO YOUR AUNT VIA OWL POST!'  
 _'Riddikulus!'_

I missed again, but noticed the Boggart-Spode skid to a halt, as its bulging pug eyes went wide with fear. Its gaze was drawn to the canopy above, at which it changed back into its shrew-form and promptly biffed off.  
In the sky above, at least two dozen Dementors were circling like vultures on a particularly scrumptious-looking carcass.

With every fibre of Hufflepuff courage, I willed myself out of petrification. Focus, Wooster!  
I thought of my Aunt Dahlia laughing with me over a shared jug of butterbeer.  
 _'Expecto Patronum!'_  
I shot forth a burst of light. The Panther's head emerged, took one bold snap at the Dementors, then vanished into the gloom. They swooped lower, and I could feel my energy dripping away in the dreadful cold.  
I willed the thought of my chums - no distinct memory, but a bleary attempt to picture each of their affable, asinine faces.  
 _'Expecto Patronum!'_  
One meagre flash of light.  
My brain slowed - I registered the flowing dark forms looming closer, willing me in for a kiss...

_'EXPECTO PATRONUM!'_

I was suddenly yanked back into alertness, squinting against a great, bright flash. This was not my Patronus - something was shooing the horrid aberrations off, with great expediency. A small little thing, darting and tweeting and pecking with adorable, feathery ferocity.  
As I got my bearings, I recognised what form the Patronus was - a sprightly little bluebird.  
Frantic footsteps approached. 'Bertram! Thank Merlin, you are alright!'

As if my poor ravaged being hadn't bore enough shocks that night. I was very quickly swept up in a firm embrace - a Jeevesian embrace, to be precise. Those large, deft, potioneer's hands were marvellous at cradling one close, not to mention making one come out in rather pleasant shivers.  
'I thought I was going to lose you!'  
I shook my head dumbly. 'I'm terrible with directions, but I've always found my way home in the end. Aunt Dahlia even cast a tracking charm on me as a lad.'  
With effort, I managed a smile for him. He smiled back at me - that is to say, his lovely lips quirked up a whole half inch. At that moment, I found myself quite desperate to kiss those lips, in an entirely un-Dementor-ish fashion.

'Alright, Jeeves?' Came a gentle, gruff male voice from behind us.  
'We've apprehended Galbraith,' came McGonagall's salutation. 'A crack team of Potter's best Aurors are rounding up the beasts as we speak.'  
An almost-flustered headmistress joined us, accompanied by an all-too-familiar wizard. His face crinkled in a grin, and his green eyes glinted from behind his spectacles.

Jeeves unhanded the Wooster corpus, effortessly composing himself. 'I cannot thank you enough, Mr Potter. Without the expertise of your team, we could have had a disaster on our hands tonight.'  
Harry Potter nodded respectfully. 'I must thank _you,_ ' he insisted. 'Hogwarts deserves brave protectors like you two.'  
'I have your chocolate frog card!' I blurted unhelpfully.  
'Good man,' said the Boy Who Lived. 'I also hear you've been giving my son tips on how to blow his pocket money?...'

***

They found Galbraith twitching on the far end of the Forbidden Forest, the victim of a rogue Dementor's kiss. His soulless hide was thrown in Azkaban.

Much of the following day was disrupted by minions from the Ministry swarming the castle, ensuring that not a single monster had infiltrated the grounds. Classes were cancelled, surely a crushing blow for us all. Gussie and I spent most of the day by the shores of the lake, tossing popcorn to the wild grindylows and newts.

Hamish managed to reach the castle by the evening, ever the concerned father, wishing to check up on Marigold after her Quidditch ordeal. He, Neville, and their young ones sat together at the Hufflepuff table, splitting a sumptuous treacle tart. After dinner, I plopped myself down at the tinny old piano in the Hufflepuff common room, and we enjoyed a rousing singalong of old standards (with some of the more boisterous students). As I warbled my way to the end of 'Cauldron of Hot Strong Love', Neville's face became particularly melty.  
'Hamish and I were listening to this song when we got the owl carrying our adoption papers.' He squeezed his husband's arm.  
'Jolly good! I was listening to it on Aunt Dahlia's wireless, when I first tasted an ambrosia-flavoured Bertie Bott's bean.'  
'Really? What's that like?' Hamish asked  
I strived to recall the sensation. 'Tea, and... intelligence, I want to say? Kind of shimmery.'  
As I launched into 'You Charmed the Heart Right Out Of Me,' I noticed Jeeves, perched serenely in one of the overstuffed Hufflepuff armchairs, sipping on a cup of steaming tea.

***

Later, he bid me take a walk with him, through the moonlit castle grounds.

'You have been through a true baptism by fire, Wooster. I do hope these past weeks have not put you off teaching at Hogwarts.'  
'On the contrary! I'm thinking of applying for the D. A. D. A. position! I've been reminded what a rousing experience this old pile can offer a chap!'  
His mouth quirked a quarter-inch. 'I am glad. However, I would not instantly discount your aptitude at teaching Charms. The discipline is too often deemed as frivolous, but it holds a great power, and is a core component of the highest magic.'  
'Well, I do like your take on it.'  
'And as I have said, you are a master of particularly potent charmwork.'

We came to a stop beneath the boughs of a flowering oak, and I glanced up at him from under the fluttery Wooster lashes.  
'Why, Professor Jeeves. Are you attempting to charm me?'  
'Clearly.'  
A laugh burst out of me, and quickly died away, as I recalled the night of turmoil in the Forbidden Forest.

'You know... when that Boggart attacked you, it took the form of-'  
His long, elegant finger on my lips struck me dumb.  
And when he kissed me, it tasted exactly like an ambrosia-flavoured Bertie Bott's bean. Come to think of it, I reckon that Amortentia potion maybe an active ingredient in those things?


End file.
